


don't shut me out, let me help

by Tea_For_One_Please



Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Parents, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Carlos has a shitty home life, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, It's not graphic but it's basically the plot, M/M, Making Out, One Shot, Post-Canon, Read at Your Own Risk, Sharing a Bed, That's basically the source of the angst, There's a lot of fluff too!, stay safe kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_For_One_Please/pseuds/Tea_For_One_Please
Summary: When Seb glimpses a dark purple bruise on Carlos' arm, he's determined to get to the bottom of it and help his boyfriend. When he does, the reality is about as bad as he imagined.
Relationships: Seb Matthew-Smith/Carlos Rodriguez
Comments: 13
Kudos: 91





	don't shut me out, let me help

He seems more subdued than usual, Seb notices, as Carlos runs their usual dance warmup at the start of rehearsal. _Beauty and the Beast_ is not the most dance-heavy show, more focused on movements than the energetic dance routines of _High School Musical_. However, he keeps them in shape, as certain numbers are more energetic than others, and so the cast have to be equally so. He’s arrived late, though, so he’s missed the start, so simply watches from the side as Carlos puts the others through their paces.

He has three or four songs for which he’s learnt simple, high-energy routines to use as warm-ups; today’s is _Don’t Stop Believing_ , and Seb hums along as he kneels down to retrieve his score book and illegally-photocopied sheet music from his backpack.

“Seb,” says a sharp voice, and, still crouching, he spins around and almost falls over. “You’re late,” Miss Jenn reproaches him. “You missed the dance warmup.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, standing up hastily. “I had to see Mrs Winters about an assignment, and get my music from my locker.” He waves the score book half-heartedly, and she sniffs.

“You need to be better organised,” she says, and Seb fights back a retort. He waits for her to continue, but she seems to be done.

“Sorry, Miss Jenn,” he repeats, now slightly annoyed. He’s already apologised, hasn’t he? He’s saved any further rebuke, though, as the song comes to an end.

“Good job, guys,” Carlos says, nodding approvingly and pausing the CD player. “Go rehydrate.” He reaches for his own water bottle, and Seb crosses the room to greet him.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says sheepishly, and Carlos shrugs.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “We’re not actually doing any dancing today.”

“Well, judging the grilling I just got from Miss Jenn you’d think we were performing _Cats_.”

Carlos laughs, the special, cheerful giggle he reserves for Seb’s personal brand of sass. He first heard it the day Carlos asked him to homecoming, and it’s very quickly become his favourite sound in the world. “I’m just glad you’re here. They’re hard work today,” he adds confidentially, wiping his forehead and rolling up his sleeves.

Seb gives him a sympathetic look. “So, I need to ask which songs we’re doing, but I think Miss Jenn’s kind of pissed at me, so I…” He trails off as he catches sight of Carlos’ left arm, noticeably marked by a dark, prominent bruise. “Oh my god,” he says, gently catching Carlos’ hand and examining it. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Carlos says hastily, pulling his arm away and tugging his sleeves back down. “I fell, running up the stairs last night.”

“Carlos.” Seb lowers his voice, not in the least convinced by this explanation, and now very concerned, but Carlos brushes him off and calls to the cast.

“Okay people, can we gather?”

“Carlos,” Seb says, slightly louder, but Miss Jenn makes her way towards them, turns to face the room and claps her hands.

“Let’s make a start,” she says brightly. “Today I’d like to run the _Gaston_ scene we did last week, and make a start on the blocking of the market scene. So, I need all the boys onstage, including EJ and Big Red.” She turns to the side and gestures to the performance space, and the guys hastily crowd into their positions. “Seb, if you would?” Miss Jenn says, only a hint remaining of her earlier annoyance. Seb resolves to catch up with Carlos later, and dutifully makes his way to the piano. “Okay, and freeze-frame!” Miss Jenn calls, before turning to Seb. “Whenever you’re ready.” He nods, his mind still elsewhere, and starts playing the first few bars.

To his satisfaction, Big Red starts singing exactly on cue; he’s a decent singer, and although Seb is of the opinion that he would benefit from a little coaching, Miss Jenn thinks his voice is charming, and suits the character of Le Fou. “ _Gosh, it disturbs me to see you, Gaston, looking so down in the dumps…_ ”

By the end of the first verse, he’s essentially running on autopilot, his fingers running their familiar course across the keys, and the sheet music only really a formality. He’s certainly not watching what’s happening onstage, his mind instead focused entirely on Carlos and his very suspicious bruise.

He thinks back over the events of the day, trying to deduce when exactly it could have happened. After all, he certainly doesn’t believe that it’s the result of Carlos falling over. It seemed to go all the way around his wrist, which means – the realisation makes Seb’s stomach swoop – it’s probably the result of someone grabbing Carlos’ wrist and hurting him.

But was it someone at school, or someone else? He thinks back to the hour they spent together at lunch, and the two classes they share. He can’t remember noticing it (and he definitely would have), but that said, he doesn’t remember Carlos taking off his hoodie, or rolling up his sleeves, until just now. His blood boils as he runs through a mental list of people it could have been: a family member, or someone on the school bus, or that asshole junior who always jeers at them when they walk together –

“ _Seb!_ ” He jumps, and abruptly stops playing, before glancing up over the top of the piano, where the entire cast, plus Carlos and Miss Jenn, are giving him an odd look. Well, except Nini and Kourtney, who just look rather amused. “I told everyone to stop,” Miss Jenn says.

“Sorry,” he says, the tips of his ears burning in embarrassment.

“Are you alright?” EJ asks from the stage. “You kind of looked like you wanted to kill the piano.”

“I’m fine,” he says, stifling a cough on the word _fine_. The collective look of bemused concern lingers on him a moment longer, before attention returns to Miss Jenn.

“Anyway,” she says, eyes widening momentarily. “Why did I stop you?” Ricky raises his hand. “Yes, Ricky?”

“We weren’t reacting enough,” he says, and she nods.

“Precisely. Let me ask you,” she says, starting to pace back and forth in front of the platform, “how do you feel about Gaston?”

“Bit of an asshole,” Ashlyn volunteers from her seat on the floor.

“Thank you, Ashlyn,” Miss Jenn says patiently. “Boys?”

“We love him,” Big Red says eagerly, and the boys chuckle.

“Exactly!” Miss Jenn says over the laughter. “Your characters think he’s, like, the coolest guy since Jean-Jacques Rousseau.” The laughing dies down, and the entire cast looks blankly at her.

“Who?” Ricky asks, nonplussed.

“Really? The 18th century French anti-royalist? No?”

“Anyway,” says Carlos, in an attempt to steer her notes back into the realms of sanity.

“Anyway,” she echoes. “Red’s right – you _adore_ Gaston. Try and show it, yeah?” The boys murmur affirmation. “Lovely. From the first chorus, please, Seb?”

This time, they get all the way through, and when Miss Jenn sends them off again to rehydrate, Carlos approaches the piano to talk to Seb.

“Are you okay? You went a little weird there earlier.”

“No, I’m not okay,” Seb says desperately. “Carlos, your arm – ”

“Oh my god, honey, can you let it go?” Carlos says, clearly trying hard to keep his tone light but with just a hint of frustration in his voice. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“But someone clearly did that to you,” Seb hisses. “I thought we were making a point of being honest with each other?”

“It doesn’t matter, Seb.” Carlos’ voice is cold and hard; Seb’s never heard him talk like that before, and the sudden change startles him.

“Don’t do this,” he says gently, forcing himself to mask his hurt, knowing that however much this is affecting him, it has to be worse for Carlos. “Don’t shut me out. Just talk to me.” For the first time, Carlos seems to pause and bite back a snappish response, apparently on the brink of relenting. Before he can, however, Miss Jenn calls the cast over to the stage to run the blocking of the opening song, and Carlos disappears. Seb grinds his teeth in frustration, but stands up and joins the others onstage, resigning himself to not discovering the truth until later.

At the end of the rehearsal, Carlos vanishes uncharacteristically quickly, and Seb has to scramble to catch up with him.

“Carlos!” He sees Carlos freeze in his tracks, before turning nonchalantly towards him.

“Oh, hey,” he says casually, and Seb feels a little hurt. He tightens his lips, not needing to say anything for Carlos to understand what he’s thinking. “Sorry,” he sighs. “Can… can we talk?”

“Of course,” Seb says, relieved. They slip into an empty classroom and sit at a desk, facing each other. “Can I see?” he asks gently. Carlos nods reluctantly, and pushes his sleeve up. Seb winces, able to see upon closer inspection the definite imprints of finger marks. “What happened?” He reaches across the desk and takes Carlos’ hand in his own.

“So after we got off the phone last night,” Carlos says slowly, “my dad came in and asked me who I was talking to.” Seb says nothing, waiting for him to continue. “I told him I was talking to my friend Seb, and he was like, ‘is that who you’re fucking these days?’”

Seb winces. “Carlos, I’m sorry.” Carlos gives him a look which very clearly says, _just wait_.

“I said no, obviously,” he continues, “but then he noticed your contact name.”

“Oh, shit,” Seb breathes, eyes widening. ‘ _Sebby_ ’, followed by a red heart, is not exactly how you label a purely platonic friend’s contact details.

“Yeah,” Carlos says, exhaling deeply.

“And then he..?” Seb trails off, gesturing towards the bruise, and Carlos nods, chewing anxiously on his lip.

“He said he wouldn’t have a gay son, although you can imagine he didn’t use those exact words,” he says quietly. “And he told me I have to break up with you today or he would change the locks.” Seb swallows the lump in his throat.

“Is this it then?” he asks softly, and Carlos looks at him like he’s insane. “You’re breaking up with me, right?”

“Why, do you want to?”

“Of course not!”

“Then do you really think I’d choose that bastard over you?”

Seb forces a sympathetic smile. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ve already done it,” Carlos says with a shaky laugh.

“What?”

“I waited until he was asleep, packed my stuff into my car and left this morning.”

Seb takes a moment to process this. “ _What?_ What were you going to do tonight?”

“I don’t know, sleep in the car,” he admits.

“Carlos, that’s not okay,” Seb says in disbelief. “I know you turned sixteen, like, six months ago, but you can’t live in your car. Not being funny, but how are you even going to pay for it?”

“I don’t know,” Carlos says quietly. “It’s got enough fuel for, like, a week.”

“Well,” says Seb, thinking fast. “Come stay with us for tonight, and we’ll talk to my parents – they’ll know what to do. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for your dad to kick you out when you’re still legally a child.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” he says quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Seb with a soft laugh. “What is the point in being your boyfriend if I can’t look after you when you need me to?” Carlos nods and looks away; Seb stands up and pulls him gently to his feet. “Come here,” he says, wrapping him in a tight hug, forcing himself not to shake as Carlos buries his face into his shoulder and lets out a choked sob.

Seb’s mom is crossing the yard when they pull up, and to say she looks confused is rather an understatement. Not that Carlos visiting is unusual, of course – but Seb imagines that the two of them arriving in a laden-down car, with Seb looking like he would kill someone if they blocked his path, probably isn’t what she was expecting to see. Carlos stays put while Seb gets out and briefly explains the situation to his mom.

“…so can he stay here?” he finishes, and his mom considers it for a moment.

“Tonight, certainly,” she says. “I don’t want to promise anything beyond that until I’ve talked with your dad, okay?” He nods, and she smiles encouragingly. “We will sort this out though, Seb.”

“Yeah,” he says thickly.

“Take him inside. You’re excused from your chores for tonight.”

“Actually, he might appreciate us having something to do.”

“Up to you,” she shrugs. “Go in and have a drink and a snack, all the same.”

Only two of Seb’s siblings are present as they enter the kitchen through the back door, and Seb promptly finds himself rugby tackled by his youngest brother, stumbling backwards and nearly knocking Carlos over. “Hey, Caleb,” he chuckles, crouching down to hug him. “How was school today?”

“Don’t know,” he says with a grin.

“You don’t know?” Seb says incredulously. “Did you forget already?”

“Yep,” he nods, a mischievous smile still plastered across his face; Seb knows he’s fibbing, but doesn’t pursue it, turning instead to his sister Heather, who’s leaning against the refrigerator.

“’Scuse me,” Seb says, pushing past her and trying to open the fridge door, but she doesn’t budge. “Move,” he says, less politely.

“Or what?”

“Just get out of the way,” he says irritably. “I’m _really_ not in the mood.” When she still doesn’t move from her position, he simply shoves her out of the way and pulls the door open. He’s reaching for a carton of orange juice when she slams the door shut again, hitting his head with a sharp sting. “Shit!” he gasps, rubbing his head and staring at her in disbelief.

“Shit,” echoes Caleb from the table through a mouthful of cookie, and Seb freezes in horror, having had no idea that he was still in the room.

“No, no, buddy, don’t say that,” he says gently.

“Shit,” Caleb says proudly. Seb looks across the room and catches Carlos’ eye, who’s trying not to laugh.

“Now look what you did,” he hisses furiously to Heather.

“You said it, not me.” Her tone pleads innocence, but the satisfied smile on her face suggests otherwise. “Boy, mom is gonna be mad if she hears him saying that.”

“Yeah, well, thanks a lot,” Seb says, voice heavy with venom. He crouches down by Caleb’s chair and speaks softly to him. “I shouldn’t have said that word,” he says. “And mom’ll be mad at both of us if she hears you say it, okay?” Caleb nods, his clear blue eyes wide. “So if you promise not to say that again, I’ll get you another cookie.” He considers the bribe, then nods. “Great,” Seb says with relief, praying that he keeps his word as Carlos retrieves the ransom and hands it over. Heather smirks at him as she wanders out of the kitchen, not noticing the daggers that Seb’s glaring at her behind her back. The twins, Tina and Patrick, walk in from the hall, just as their parents enter together through the back door.

“Out,” Seb’s mom says sternly, gesturing to the three younger children.

“But we’re hungry,” protests Tina.

“Well, dinner’ll be ready in a half-hour. You can wait that long.” their mother says, giving her a warning look.

“Come on, Caleb,” Patrick mutters, unimpressed. No one speaks while she makes herself and her husband some tea, but as she brings the cups and the cookie jar over to the kitchen table, Seb and Carlos look apprehensively at them.

“So, here’s the thing,” she says slowly, making eye contact with them both in turn, then focusing on Carlos. “Of course you’re very welcome to stay here until this gets sorted out, Carlos.”

“Thank you,” he says in a small voice.

“And if you’d like, we’ll willingly come with you to school tomorrow to talk to the guidance counsellor.” Carlos nods gratefully.

“But we don’t think you staying with us will be a permanent solution,” Seb’s dad adds gently.

“I sort of figured that,” Carlos says sadly. “Will I have to go home?” he asks, his voice growing quieter with each sentence.

“No,” she says firmly. “I imagine the school will put you in touch with a social worker, and they’ll find you somewhere to live.”

“Like a children’s home?” he asks, alarmed. Under the table, Seb slips his hand into Carlos’ and squeezes it wordlessly.

“More likely with a foster family,” says Seb’s dad, sipping his tea.

“But don’t worry,” his mom reassures him. “You can stay as long as you need to, okay?” Carlos nods gratefully.

“With your permission,” his dad chimes in, “we’ll need to photograph the bruise on your arm while it’s at its worst, as evidence.”

“Can we see?” his mom asks gently; Carlos hesitates, then nods and pushes up his left sleeve. She grimaces at the sight, and Seb’s dad pulls out his cell phone.

“May I?” he says, holding it up. Carlos nods, and rests his arm on the table. He takes two pictures, one of each side of his arm, and shoves his phone back in his pocket. “I think that’s everything we need to say,” he says, looking to his wife for confirmation.

She nods, and adds, “Is there anything you want to tell us, or ask us – either of you?”

“Just thank you,” Carlos says sincerely. “I don’t know who I’d have gone to otherwise.”

“But of course,” she says. “Seb, can you go and collect the eggs before dinner?”

“Sure!” He stands up and turns to Carlos. “Want to come?” Carlos nods eagerly, offering Seb’s parents one more grateful smile before following Seb out of the back door.

Unusually for them, they spend the next half-hour not really speaking much, as they go between the five chicken coops. It’s a comfortable silence, though, as they fall into a routine – Carlos lifts the roofs of the huts, Seb reaches in and lifts each of the hens, stroking their heads as Carlos retrieves the eggs and places them in the basket Seb brought with them.

There’s only one mishap, at the start, when Carlos knocks his head on the roof of the hut and drops the egg in alarm. This startles the hen, and she struggles in Seb’s hands, alerting the others, who start clucking anxiously and hurrying around the coop in concern. Seb hastily puts her down, closes the roof of the hut and opens its door. They flood out, attempting to flee the apparent danger within, and Seb and Carlos watch as they run around the pen for a moment, until they realise there’s no threat. Once they’re settled, Seb gently shoos them back into the hut and grins at Carlos, who looks sheepishly back at him.

“We’ll come back to that one,” he says.

Once they’ve finished, they leave the basket of eggs by the back door for Seb’s mom to retrieve, then, with around ten minutes to spare, they wander out to the barn to see the sheep. Seb knows that Carlos likes the sheep, even though he prefers the cows himself. The cows are more sensitive to people, he finds, and will often curl up beside him when he goes out there to be by himself.

He closes the barn door behind them as they enter, and Carlos goes to the sheep’s pens and leans over the fence to scratch their heads. Shearing season finished a few weeks ago, and their coats are only just starting to feel soft as the wool starts to grow back again. They sniff his hands expectantly, hoping for food; Seb obligingly fishes a small sack of their feed from his pocket for Carlos to give them. At the smell, they crowd around the one he’s petting, and Carlos chuckles as they snuffle against his hands for the food.

Crossing the barn, Seb hops up onto the low fence marking the cows’ pen, murmuring, “Hey, pal,” to the one that ambles over to see him. He swings a leg over and leans back against the barn wall, taking the creature’s big head in his hands and running his palms over her sleek, muscular cheeks. “Good girl,” he says fondly. The cow grunts contentedly, and he swats a fly away from her left eye.

His mind drifts to Carlos, and his heart aches for him. He’s known for some time that Carlos and his parents have problems: Carlos confided in him fairly soon after they started dating, telling him that he hadn’t come out to them, as they were very vocally homophobic. And it wasn’t just that either – they had never supported Carlos’ creative pursuits, and consequently didn’t come to a single performance of _High School Musical_. Seb always feels a sting of compassion for his boyfriend when he remembers the sadness in Carlos’ voice when he described himself as ‘disappointed, but not surprised’ when they hadn’t come by the final night.

He never realised it was this bad, though. The only time he can think of that even comes close was a few days after closing night, when he called Carlos’ name down the hallway and he flinched. He asked him about it at the time, but Carlos just said he’d made him jump. Now, Seb wonders if there was something else going on that he didn’t pick up on.

As he strokes the cow’s ears, he sees Carlos cautiously approaching out of the corner of his eye, and smiles encouragingly. “Come say hello,” he suggests, but Carlos shakes his head dubiously. He likes the sheep well enough, but Seb knows he gets nervous around the cows; though he often tries to allay his fears, he decides not to push the issue tonight. He gives the cow one final pat on the neck and jumps down from the fence. Seeing the sadness in Carlos’ eyes, Seb closes the gap between them and wraps him in a tight hug. “You okay?”

He feels Carlos shrug under his hold. “I don’t know, really,” he admits, nuzzling his face into Seb’s shoulder. “I guess I was still expecting them to call and, I don’t know, apologise, and it would all be okay.”

“Carlos,” says Seb, releasing him and looking him seriously in the eyes. “It would take a lot more than a phone call and an apology to make what he did okay.”

“No, I know,” Carlos says hastily. “And I’m not even sure I’d go back.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I just mean… they didn’t even call, you know?” He tugs anxiously at the cuffs of his sleeves. “They don’t know where I am. Or care, apparently.” Seb’s instinct is to refute this, but a moment’s thought makes him realise that actually, Carlos is right.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hating this deeply insufficient response, and perhaps Carlos senses this, because he shakes his head and pulls him back into a hug.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing more than enough.”

That night, Seb obligingly accepts the air mattress and sleeping bag that his mom gives them, and proceeds to set them up in the corner of his bedroom (knowing full well that no one is going to sleep in it), while Carlos takes a quick shower and changes into his pyjamas, retrieved from one of the suitcases in his car. Seb’s already changed by the time Carlos returns, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and navy boxers. He can only make out his vague shape since he’s taking out his contact lenses, squinting as he drips solution into their case and puts them in their respective sides of the box. This done, he pulls on his glasses and shifts over on the bed so Carlos can join him.

“Hi,” he says, turning his head so Carlos can kiss him. Seb hears their glasses _click_ together, and lets out a breath of laughter against his lips, opening his eyes and pulling back so he can take his glasses off, then Carlos’.

This done, he turns his attention back to Carlos, breathing in sharply as their lips connect. He presses a palm to Carlos’ jaw and feels him lean into his touch; his free hand finds Carlos’, and he laces their fingers together. He feels Carlos ease his lips open slightly, and tastes the sharp mint of his toothpaste as Carlos lets out an appreciative hum. After another minute they break apart again, and Seb opens his eyes to smile at Carlos.

“Love you,” he says softly.

“You too.” Seb leans up to kiss his forehead, and drapes an arm around Carlos’ shoulder as they slump back against Seb’s pillows and gaze up at the blurred outlines of the luminescent stars stuck to his ceiling. Carlos turns and retrieves their glasses, and the stars suddenly become a lot clearer as Seb jams them on with his spare hand. “This is nice,” Carlos says softly after a moment of companionable silence.

“What is?” Seb asks, only half-listening as he tries in vain to count the stars, for the hundredth time.

“Just this.” Carlos’ reply is simple but gentle. “Lying here with you, pretending that we live together.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” he asks curiously.

“I guess,” Carlos says, clearly feeling a little foolish. “I don’t know, I guess I just like the idea of living with you.” When Seb doesn’t speak, Carlos turns his head to look at him. “I’m sorry, is that too weird?”

“No,” Seb says hastily. “You know I’m in this for the long haul – I suppose I just hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“Imagine it, though,” Carlos says happily. “A little studio apartment in Newark – I’d be working someplace, waiting for my big break, you’d be the star of a new off-Broadway show – ”

“Off-Broadway?” Seb says in mock indignation.

“Well, sure, at first,” Carlos replies. “But you’d be such a hit that you’d be at the Gershwin within a year.”

“And you’d get head-hunted to choreograph,” Seb chimes in, and Carlos grins.

“And then once I’ve peaked, I’d pack it in and teach dance classes at the performing arts college.”

“I’d move on from this new musical and play Jared in _Dear Evan Hansen_ for its tenth casting,” Seb adds.

“And then when that finished, you’d get a job in a piano bar,” Carlos suggests.

“Sure, the pay wouldn’t be great,” Seb says, “but who cares?”

“We’d be starving artists,” Carlos says.

“But that’d be okay, right?”

“Totally,” Carlos says with a smile. “Totally okay.”

The next morning, they walk to school together, Seb’s parents’ having promised to meet them at school at some point, to discuss Carlos’ options. The first few hours of the day really seem to drag, and it’s not until fourth period that the loudspeaker interrupts Seb’s American Literature class.

“ _Carlos Rodriguez and Seb Matthew-Smith, please go to Ms Kapoor’s office.”_ Predictably, the majority of the class lets out a provocative _oooooh_ , except for the few theatre kids who share Seb’s class.

As Seb gathers his things, Gina leans over and hisses, “What’s going on?”

“Tell you later,” he murmurs back, before swinging his backpack over his shoulder and hurrying out of the classroom.

He finds Carlos sat on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs outside the guidance counsellor’s office, and glances through the window before sitting down. His mom and dad are already in there, talking to Ms Kapoor. “You okay?” he says quietly, and he nods, his lips tight and his fists clenched anxiously. Seb rests a hand on his thigh, and Carlos relaxes enough to allow Seb to take his hand and squeeze it. “It’s going to be alright,” he says encouragingly, partly to reassure Carlos, but also to reassure himself.

“Yeah.” Carlos’ voice is quiet and subdued, and Seb decides to leave him to his thoughts. Presently the door opens and the guidance counsellor leans out.

“Carlos? Seb?” Ms Kapoor says kindly. “Please come in.” They follow her into the office, and Seb smiles nervously at his parents. “Do sit down.” They take the two spare seats on the other side of the desk from her, and wait for her to speak. “Carlos, Mr and Mrs Matthew-Smith have filled me in on the situation.” Carlos nods, and she hesitates before speaking again. “Unfortunately it doesn’t look as though you’ll be able to home.”

“Good,” Seb says fiercely, and his father scowls at him.

“Seb,” he hisses, and Seb doesn’t apologise, but stays quiet.

“There are a few options available to you,” Ms Kapoor continues, ignoring the interruption. “The first is moving away…” She doesn’t even finish laying out this scenario before Carlos interjects.

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m staying here.”

“That’s okay,” she says, her patience and empathy not wavering for a second. “In that case, we can find you a local foster family. You’d still live in Salt Lake City, and still be able to come to this school. How does that sit with you?”

“Better,” Carlos says cautiously. “Are there any other options?”

“Yes,” Ms Kapoor says, shuffling her file. “Seb’s parents have said that they’d be happy to be registered as your foster family.” Seb looks at Carlos, whose expression of astonishment matches his own.

“But… I thought you said we couldn’t?” Seb blurts out, forgetting his resolution to stay quiet.

“We didn’t think we could,” his mom says. “But we’ve had a look at our finances, and we think it’s feasible.”

“And it turns out there’s a small amount of money we can get from the government to help, if we’re registered as a foster family,” his dad adds. Addressing Carlos, he continues, “Besides, we figure you’ve been through enough without having to uproot and settle down with strangers.” Carlos still hasn’t said anything, apparently too overwhelmed to speak.

“It’ll be quite a bit of work,” Seb’s mom says. “But we were planning to convert the attic into another bedroom at some point anyway.”

“And you’ll be expected to help around the farm as much as the others,” his dad puts in.

“Of course,” Carlos says, regaining his ability to speak in a breathy rush of words. “Thank you so much, Mr Ma-”

“And you might start calling us Emma and Chris,” Seb’s mom interrupts with a smile, and Carlos nods sheepishly.

“Excellent,” Ms Kapoor smiles, opening her file and flicking through the papers. “Mr and Mrs Matthew-Smith, I’ll give you the contact details of an excellent social worker I know, and help you make a start on the paperwork. Carlos, Seb, you can go.”

Still rather in shock, they stand up and swiftly exit the office, seizing each other’s hands and practically running down the corridor until they’re out of view of any passers-by. His breathing still shaky, Carlos pulls Seb towards him and hugs him tightly, before releasing him and kissing him, passion stoked by exhilaration and the joy of the news they just received. Seb responds in earnest, clasping their hands together, barely able to maintain the kiss from how much he’s smiling.

“I can’t believe it,” Carlos says breathlessly as they draw apart.

“Me neither,” Seb says with a shaky laugh.

“This isn’t going to change anything for us, is it?” Carlos asks, suddenly serious.

“Are you kidding?” Seb says incredulously. “Of course not! If anything, we’ll just get to live out what we were talking about a few years early.”

“I guess so,” Carlos says, the smile gradually returning to his face.

“I _know_ so,” Seb says, his voice gentle. Suddenly, though, a mischievous glint enters his eyes, and Carlos’ expression turns apprehensive.

“What?”

“Now I _have_ to teach you how to milk the cows,” he says, chuckling at the way Carlos’ face pales, and hugging him again.

When the bell rings in the end of the day, they head to rehearsal together; they’re the first to arrive, and Miss Jenn nods approvingly.

“What’s the plan today?” Carlos asks, and Miss Jenn counts on her fingers.

“Recap the blocking, learn the song, put the two together.” She frowns. “Not in that order. We’ll start with the song.”

“Got it.”

“Seb, do you have the music?” He nods, shrugging off his backpack and pulling out half a dozen sheets of paper, taped together and dotted with pencil markings.

“Oh, Miss Jenn,” Carlos says, “while we’re alone, there’s something we should probably let you know about.” Seb nods, and Carlos briefly explains the day’s developments. He’s just finishing when people start to flock through the door. Seb hastily goes over to the piano, so he can appear too preoccupied to take part in Carlos’ warmup. Before Carlos can call them to order, though, Nini, Kourtney and Gina swarm over to the piano.

“What happened earlier?” Gina asks, and Nini nods.

“Yeah, why were you called to the counsellor’s office?”

“Carlos is coming to live with my family,” Seb says with a small, excited smile, and counters their various noises of confusion and surprise by telling them about what’s happened. He’s just asking them not to bug Carlos about it when Miss Jenn calls them to order.

“Okay, everyone, can we gather around the piano? Main soloists at the front, and everyone else be as loud as you’re capable – it’s a market! It’s got to be busy!” Seb just has time to offer Carlos a secret smile, before Miss Jenn points at him to start playing.

That night, when Seb comes back into his bedroom from the bathroom, Carlos is already tucked up in his bed, the air mattress once again abandoned. Seb smiles fondly when he sees that he’s flicking through one of Seb’s childhood picture books with an amused expression on his face. Seb clears his throat and tilts his head to one side. “Make yourself at home,” he teases, and Carlos blushes slightly.

“Sorry,” he says, scooting over to let Seb in.

“I’m kidding,” Seb chuckles, climbing over him and sliding under the duvet. “You ready to sleep?”

“Yeah, think so,” Carlos says, putting aside the picture book and folding up his glasses, before switching off the lamp and settling down next to Seb. It’s a little bigger than a twin bed, but smaller than a double, so it’s a bit of a squash; however, when they started sharing a bed, they quickly discovered that they rather like sleeping cuddled up together, so the lack of space doesn’t bother them. Now, though, they lie on either edge of the bed, facing each other, fingers intertwined, simply enjoying each other’s company in the darkness.

“Welcome home,” Seb says softly, and Carlos smiles as he shuffles closer to kiss him.

“Thanks,” he says, pushing a strand of hair off Seb’s face. “I love you, you know.”

“I do know.” Seb’s voice is gentle, barely more than a whisper, and his eyes are starting to flutter shut. Without letting go of Seb’s hand, Carlos rolls over and shifts closer to Seb until his back is pressed against his chest. “I love you too,” Seb mumbles, kissing the back of his neck. Carlos closes his eyes and smiles, feeling as he’s always felt when Seb’s holding him – that he’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! I do actually love these boys - contrary to the crap I put them through!
> 
> If you liked it, please let me know in the comments, or else drop me an ask on Tumblr (my url is @tea-for-one-please)!


End file.
